A/N: I don't own any of the Backstrom characters and I am not making any money from writing this.

Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, English is not my native language.

This is basically my version of season two premiere... too bad that there will never be one. Everett Backstrom is still grumpy a cynical, mostly due to a current situation that he is in, but the progress that he made in season one-especially in the finale-will eventually come to light. And he probably has a particular dislike for corrupt cops due to his father... so there is that.

Everett woke up at about eight am, as usual. With a headache, as usual.

He groaned and crawled out of the bed, heading to the door. Gregory had already been up, sitting at the kitchen table and eating cereal.

"Good morning", he said.

Everett mumbled something and picked up his mail. There was only one letter, without the return address. He rubbed his eyes and exhaled before opening the envelope. He scratched his head and pulled the letter out.

Everett snickered, not looking up, and heading over to the kitchen table.

"More threatening letters?", Gregory commented, eating his bowl of cereal with skinned milk that his landlord despised.

Everett grimaced, opening the refrigerator door. "You shut your dirty mouth", he groaned before putting the letters and the envelopes down on the table. "And yes", he mumbled.

Gregory looked up. "You can have police protection, you know."

Everett glared at him, sitting down at the table. "I don't need some schmuck standing at my door day at night", he hissed before re-reading the letter. "I have a gun and a dead bolt."

Everett took a sip of his beer. Gregory smiled teasingly. "A light beer. I see you're doing well." He withheld a chuckle. "Now try to go down to less than five bottles a day, starting from eight am."

Everett glared at him. "I still haven't given up bacon." He sighed. "My dad is in prison, and he, probably, still gets the real beer."

Gregory raised his eyebrows. "You can have it too, but you've decided not to." He ate some more cereal. "And your father is under the house arrest", he reminded him.

"Same thing", Everett snapped at him. He looked away. "If he wasn't some hot shot in the middle of nowhere and if the DA wasn't whining about the lack of evidence, he would be doing a real time already."

Gregory shrugged. "Well, they do only have GPS records proving that he was in the area at the approximate time of the murder and one usable shoe print found half a mile away from the place the body had been found, matching to his boots."

Everett glared at him. "What side are you on?", he hissed. A sulk appeared on his face. "And why did I tell you all that anyway?"

"I just want you to be realistic", Gregory said. "This will get complicated, and ugly. It already has." He gulped. "And you still suffer from an alcohol withdrawl."

"Shut up", Everett slurred.

#

Paquet kept putting the crime scene photographs up on the board in her usual style, meaning random. Peter walked by and noticed that the whole thing had drastically changed appearence-and theme, apparently. It was still early in the morning, and there was barely anyone else in the workroom.

"What is this?", he exclaimed.

Paquet grinned. "You like it?"

"Is this... about that attempted murder case from a week ago?", Peter asked instead of answering.

Paquet nodded her head. "I feel like I'm on to something. Even Backstrom agreed."

Peter smiled, turning to face her. "Really?", he asked, teasing her. Pacquet grinned.

It was then that a visibly upset John walked into the room, followed by somewhat distressed Nicole, the heavy footsteps echoing throughout the room with an admirable speed. Peter immediately turned to face them and took a few steps away from Paquet-a force of habit. She gave her two colleagues a surprised look, barely even noticing Peter's reaction.

"We... have to get going", John explained. "Murder. Shooting death. I already informed Backstrom." He swallowed a lump in his throat, looking away for a moment. "The victim's a cop."

#

Everett walked underneath the crime scene tale and over to the crime scene slowly, followed by John. The sky was cloudy and it felt like it might start to rain any moment.

The crime scene was an isolated parking road in one of the less residential areas of the city: the first few buildings were about half a mile away. The patrol car was parked near the end. The driver's side window was broken. A tall, young, dark haired police officer, still with his uniform, with the gun and badge on, was laying on the passenger seat, dead. His head was coated with blood.

Moto was standing near the crime scene tape, a grim look on his face. Gravely was standing a few feet away, making notes. Niedermayer was still taking photographs of the body.

"Officer Michael Gray, thirty, been at the force for seven years, married, no children", John said, breathing heavily. "He was on patrol the other night. He reported back to the station, the last time, at nine pm. He was supposed to return by eleven pm, but he never did." John looked away. "They tried tracking him down via the GPS system in his car, the cellphone signal, nothing worked." He sighed, shuddering. "The search was organized on the places that he was supposed to patrole, no leads. Some joggers found him early this morning. Maybe a robbery gone wrong... his wallet, phone and watch are missing. Nothing else in his possession other than a walkie-talkie, house keys and a bag of chips. Two bullets in the GPS... explains the lack of signal. Two shots in the head. He didn't even get a chance to draw his weapon."

They stopped mere inches away from the car. Backstrom took a look at the body, then took on observing the car, walking back and forth over the crime scene.

"No shell casings, some unclear shoe prints and tyre tracks around", Moto said. "Traces of some pink paint at the side of the patrol car."

"Could be a useful trace evidence", Nicole pointed out, discomfort evident in her voice. She looked away, facing the city landscape to behind. "No eye witnesses, no security cameras near by."

"He had an extra gun in the glove compartment", Peter Niedermayer said, looking up at Everett and John. ".375 caliber revolver. He didn't get a chance to use it either. No shell casings, but it appears that the murderer used .45 caliber handgun. Judging by the liver temperature, he was likely murdered last night between eleven pm and twelve pm." He looked at five paper coffe cups that laid on the passenger seat. "I thought these might help in re-tracing his footsteps, but, apparently, he didn't keep any of the receipts... all purchased from the same chain of cafes, according to the designe, but they have those cafes all over the city."

"We have no idea what he could have been doing here", John commented. "No family living near by, not any of his patrole sites for that night."

"He wasn't murdered here", Everett concluded. "He was murdered elsewhere and transported here."

"You can't know that", Nicole objected.

Everett glared at her. "Really?"

He walked to the back of the car and pointed at the bumber and car tyres, making Nicole take a few steps closer. "Look at the sides of his car. Covered with mud." He looked around. "Do you see any mud near by?" He inhaled sharply. "But there are many forests and isolated roads close to here." He frowned, deep in thought. "The killer who is familiar with the area could certainly use those paths in order to move the body and the car to here without being spotted or caught on traffic cameras."

"Or maybe the victim drove to here himself, using that roads", Nicole suggested. "Maybe he was pursuing a criminal. And there are no signs of body being moved."

Everett looked at her like she was crazy. "The killer used a towing hitch. Didn't you notice the fresh scratch marks on the back bumber and the car tyres? Please!", he snickered.

"Backstrom might be up to something", Peter agreed, still concentrated on the car interior.

Nicole glared at him. "Seriously?"

Peter looked up to meet her eyes, completely guilt-free. "The blood splatters are unusually wide and thin", he explained. "And shaky around the edges. Like the car was still moving for some time while the blood was still wet." He straightened himself up before taking one more look at the crime scene. "And the bullet holes to the GPS device don't seem to be consistent, angle wise, with the wounds on the body. With a blitz-attack. I doubt that the killer shot at it accidentally."

"He, or she, didn't want us to obtain the results", Moto said.

John sighed. "Knowing that they could lead us to an original crime scene."

"It may be hard to get justice for him", Moto commented.

Everett started walking away, taking one more look at the car. "You better work on how to reveal-or not to reveal-that officer Michael Gray was corrupt", he muttered.

Everyone stared at him. Nicole's jaw almost hit the floor. Niedermayer just stared blankly at Everett. Moto gulped.

"What?", John asked silently, trying to control his temper.

"Corrupt!", Everett spat out. "Dirty. Crooked. You know the meaning, right?"

John took a deep breath, clenching his fists. "Lieutenant, that young man was a model police officer. A married man." He gritted his teeth. "Watch your mouth."

Everett took a step closer, looking John straight in the eyes, his jaw clenched. "And you take a look at him. New Italian boots, so much hair gel, obviously expensive one, that it made me want to rip my nose off, and let's not forgot that he kept an extra gun-his personal weapon-in the glove compartment. Check bank records or something and you'll find your guy." He snickered and turned around, then put the cigarette back in his mouth. "I have better things to do."

He walked away, others staring after him in shock.

~OPENING ROLES AND CREDITS~